


Turning On The Light

by ValeCimmerian



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Pining, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 13:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValeCimmerian/pseuds/ValeCimmerian
Summary: Not long into immortality on earth, Aziraphale and Crowley realise they must rely on one another to maintain their wings, and in doing so discover things about one another.(Originally posted to Tumblr under the title 'Wings'





	Turning On The Light

The first time it happened, Crowley didn't even notice. 

Although their wings didn't usually appear to exist in this mortal plane, after the first couple of hundred years both Aziraphale and Crowley noticed their wings had begun to feel.. dirty. That kind of gently sticky, unpleasant feeling you get all over when you've spent all day outside in the heat. Initially, they tried to preen them alone. Wings could be sensitive, especially the innermost feathers, and manifesting them in this plane required the angel (or demon) in question to be topless, so it was quite an intimate act and there was none either of them trusted more than themselves. But by the time the Roman Empire rolled around, and Crowley and Aziraphale began to meet more frequently, it had become clear to them both that it was not a sustainable way to go about cleaning their wings.

It wasn't until Aziraphale walked in on Crowley, elegant form curled around the black expanse of his wings, long fingers entangled in his glossy feathers (Black, but not quite? Aziraphale was struck by the shifting depths of colours in them but wouldn't let the demon see how mesmerised he was), neck crooked round at an awkward angle and wearing nothing but a sheet tangled around his hips, that either of them considered asking the other for help. And, of course, not long after the Arrangement, it was Crowley that suggested it.   
'What on earth are you-'  
'Aziraphale! Ever heard of knocking?' Crowley's face was flushed, and now he'd turned to face Aziraphale he could see they were bare of the usual dark glasses. 'I'm... in the middle of something.'  
'Really my dear, here? In a public inn? Any mortal could walk in and see you like this. And anyways, I did knock' Aziraphale looked down slightly sheepishly yet was unable to quite take his eyes off Crowley's wings. It had been a while since he'd seen them, and they were considerably more tangled than they had been then, yet still enchanting. And so different to his own. Crowley sighed.   
'Well, come in then. May as well close the door. What did you want to see me about?'  
'Well, uh..' Aziraphale stuttered a little. He couldn't quite remember now, Crowley wearing so little and suddenly seeming so close. 'Crowley, could you please put some trousers on at least?'  
He scowled. 'No.' The angel sighed.   
'You're here now. So.. could you help me please?'  
'What?' The noise Aziraphale made wasnt quite English, and he had never seen Crowley look quite so frustrated yet embarrassed.   
'Help me. With my wings. I'm.. struggling. Look, they're all disheveled and it's made me feel wrong for centuries so please angel, give me a hand here.'   
'Of course my dear boy, but only.. ah well.. only if you'll help me.' Aziraphale blushed deeply. Crowley nodded and turned around, shifting uncomfortably. Suddenly his limbs seemed too long, taking up too much space and he began to pick at his hands when Aziraphale placed a cool hand on his shoulder.   
'Crowley? Is this okay?' He nodded, relaxed his shoulders marginally, and unfurled his wings to their full magnificent length. At this Aziraphale couldn't help but give a little gasp, running his hands through the bedraggled feathers. Despite that, despite how long it had been since Crowley's wings were even properly unfurled, they were truly breathtaking and Aziraphale lost himself in the methodical sorting through of the feathers, straightening and smoothing out each individual one until the whole wingspan gleamed with the true glossy sheen. Crowley never quite relaxed. 

Then, it was Aziraphale's turn. He turned around, nervously, and miracled himself topless before manifesting his wings. He tried to relax, but there were hands on his wings, Crowley's knees were digging into his back and it kind of hurt, and he thought he could hear footsteps up the stairs with his white wings fully extended, and oh dear- his heart was pounding and he stopped breathing properly. Crowley paused.   
'Angel, are you alright? I dont have to do this.'  
Aziraphale closed his eyes. He swallowed, then opened them again.   
'No, I just.. I think I need to.. can I take a minute?' Crowley's hands were no longer on him, and the people in the surrounding area suddenly found themselves filled with an intense desire to be anywhere but there. Aziraphale breathed. The curtain shut, the room became dark and populated with shadows.  
'I'm alright now.' 

Then it happened.

There's this strange phenomenon, where if you touch an angel's wings and halo at the same time it creates an incredibly strong imprint of that moment in the angel's mind, much like the modern screenshot. While Aziraphale didn't technically have a halo, he did have these angelic curls Crowley had longed to run his hands through for all eternity. So when Aziraphale truly relaxed, Crowley put a hesitant hand on the hair that curled so attractively at the nape of his neck above that smooth expanse of back. The breath that followed, shared almost by both Aziraphale and Crowley, was a pure moment neither of them anticipated, but for Aziraphale in the time that followed he found himself able to relive that exact moment and the exact feelings of belonging (and shame, to think of belonging to a demon! Really, Aziraphale) and he did, frequently revisit that moment when the glances the demon gave him or the insufferable swagger he put on (because really, who walks like that) became too much. 

The years passed, slowly and then all at once, and these strange meetings of innocently bared skin in the half-dark became a regular fixture in the arrangement. As often as every month, more frequently if Above or Below was giving them grief, the pair would meet to silently sort their feathers out and satisfy some need to be touched, to be cared for in the most basic and human way possible. Aziraphale would ignore the quickening in his chest at the feeling of his demon's wings beneath his hands, of feeling him relax, and tenderly traced a hand between his shoulder blades between wings, half hoping and half fearing for the sharp intake of breath that came every time. Crowley would ignore the tingles fluttering across his skin from being touched in the most gentle way by his angel, for somewhere across the centuries they had become each others, ignoring the way Aziraphale half bit his lip each time a tentative finger brushed along the curls at his neck. And the bank of memories Aziraphale had grew bigger, like an interactive photo album held in stasis in his mind. And as the years slid by, those stolen glances at one another got longer. Aziraphale barely contained his look of desire in the Bastille, and Crowley pushed Aziraphale away when he really wanted to do anything but. All that was unspoken between the two, brought to a height in those dark nights with the ever looming knowledge of their superiors serving to stop what could be, to stop them even considering their feelings. 

Crowley, for all his faults, was not unobservant. He had noticed, has realised that he was deeply tempted not just by Aziraphale's physical form but by the vulnerability and bearing of the soul they had shown one another. The time they'd spent together, dining in fine places and drinking to excess, only confirmed that, and it was lucky they could easily sober up else some very bad decisions could have been made. After all, Crowley was a demon and temptation was rather his speciality. What he had never considered was the possibility of anything beyond their arrangement. Aziraphale was an angel, after all, and eminated waves of love just as a matter of course, and their nights of grooming were a practicality. It was easiest for him to believe this. 

In Aziraphale's mind, the only thing keeping him from touching Crowley like that in the daylight had been the interference of Heaven or Hell. He was certain that anything beyond their practical arrangement would be picked up on, but after the Apocalypse-that-wasnt he found he didn't care too much. He found himself lost in centuries of memories, slipping into them at every moment in the day and indulging himself more and more, sat basking in the sunlight and shadows of the hands of his demon. 

They were due another night of grooming anyway, it had been a month, and as Crowley sat on the musky floor of Aziraphale's back room, door discreetly closed and shop locked up, lights already dim, Aziraphale stood still. He simply watched as Crowley unbuttoned his shirt. Halfway shirtless, Crowley halted and looked at Aziraphale with the faint embarrassment he hadn't seen since they first began.   
'What're you doing Angel?'   
Aziraphale smiled ever so slightly, and knelt down to the floor to sit opposite Crowley. Legs crossed, knees touching Crowley's, hands restless tapping on his thighs. Crowley's hands dropped to his sides, shirt mostly open and the smooth distracting expanse of his chest bare. 'Angel?'   
And after however many millennia they had spent together, Aziraphale was afraid again. He licked his lips slightly nervously, trying and failing not to be distracted by Crowley's hands on his floor, his long legs folded so, his chest, his eyes open and vulnerable. Aziraphale leaned towards, ever so slightly and took a deep breath in before gently smiling. This was his demon. He knew him. He knew his hands. He knew his crooked smile. His demon. Aziraphale closed his eyes and took Crowley's hands in his own.  
'Angel, what are you-'   
Aziraphale showed him. Through a little bit of a miracle, and the angel still left in Crowley (the damn angel had been right, he was a little bit of a good person), Aziraphale showed him a lifetime of memories of their nights of grooming. Visions of various walls, the edges of wings (black curling around white), the warmth and breathlessness of being cared for, he gave it all to Crowley. Complicated and conflicting emotions and all. Crowley tightened his hand around Aziraphale's and the angel was aware of shaky breathing. As quickly as he started, Aziraphale stopped and the vision of the now showed him Crowley sat close enough to touch, head bowed and sobbing, clutching Aziraphale's hand.   
'I'm sorry dear, it can be a little intense sometimes. I should have warned you. We can just..' but Aziraphale's apolifuse trailed off, not least because Crowley's hands were on his shoulders rather forcefully, but because he realised that they could never go back to innocently grooming each others wings without feelings attached. Crowley breathed heavily and looked up at his angel. His eyes were bright and vivid, but he looked happy?  
'Damnit Aziraphale, I never even dared to hope.. I thought it was just me. And you.. you show.. you show that. How?' Crowley's voice was low and a little hoarse, as though he'd forgotten how to speak. He smiled, and released one of Aziraphale's hands to reach around and tangle his hand in the angel's curls. Aziraphale's face was filled with such awe and wonder Crowley wished he could hold this moment too, forever, remember the feeling of making an angel feel that heavenly. Suddenly, Aziraphale leaned forward again. He placed a tender hand along Crowley's jaw, and murmured softly.  
'Is this okay?'  
Crowley made a half-choked sound that Aziraphale knew meant yes. He leant down to close the gap between them, eyes closed and lips gentle. Aziraphale kept one hand along Crowley's face, holding him, Crowley pulling himself into the kiss with the hand still lost in Aziraphale's hair. Their other hands remained firmly intertwined.

When they finally broke apart, they kept their hands on one another.   
'Took me long enough' smiled Aziraphale. Crowley was still in a state of shock. 'My dear, do you think from now on when we do our wings we can leave the lights on?'


End file.
